


Blackbird

by BeanieBaby



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Billy Has Issues, Explicit Sexual Content, Fix-It of Sorts, M/M, Sexual Tension, Spoilers for Daredevil Season 3
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-02-04 03:11:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12761901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeanieBaby/pseuds/BeanieBaby
Summary: Frank hoisted Billy up unceremoniously like a sack of potatoes, bunching a fist in the expensive material covering his backside to keep the man from slipping.“Careful,” Curtis reminded when Billy’s head nearly connected with the edge of the kitchen island as Frank headed over to dig in the fridge, “princess’s gonna throw a hissy fit if you bruise his pretty face.”“Well, he should’ve thought about that before he tried to put a bullet in me,” Frank grunted, tossing over the keys to the van parked out back. “Grab some empty bottles. We won’t have time for pee breaks.”(Canon-divergence where Frank decides to chain Billy Russo up in the basement of his safe house instead. Takes place after Season 1.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yellow_crayon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yellow_crayon/gifts).



> Title comes from the Beatles song, because I'm gonna be using a bit of reference for Frank and Billy's code names in the show. 
> 
> Gift for my friend YC, who binged the entire season of the Punisher with me over Facetime and sobbed about how pretty Billy was.
> 
> NOTE: This is canon-divergence from Episode 13 of the Punisher TV series and will end by linking up to Daredevil Season 3.

“What are we going to do about Russo?” Curtis prompted, “You know he’s going to come knocking and asking about your whereabouts. Should we kill him?”

Like Frank, his face was a canvas of fading bruises, but the eyes that peered back were steady and determined as ever, the eyes of a soldier ready for orders. Frank looked down at his hands, the crusted scabs around his wrists where he had torn through skin breaking free from the zip ties.

He recalled the brief pressure of Billy’s hand at his pulse. The soft snick of metal biting into plastic. His cool breath at the back of Frank’s neck.

_Goddamn Frankie, do I love to watch you work._

“No,” He decided, getting to his feet and draining the cold dregs of coffee from the mug Curtis had offered him. “I have something else in mind.”

 

* * *

 

“You f-fucking ba…bastards…”

With the empty syringe stuck in the side of his neck, Billy’s fingers couldn’t do much more than tickle the bruises on Frank’s face. He met Curtis’s eyes from across the room when their old friend finally slumped motionlessly in his arms, head lolling against Frank’s shoulder. Unconscious, Billy looked painfully young.

Frank hoisted him up unceremoniously like a sack of potatoes, bunching a fist in the expensive material covering Billy’s backside to keep him from slipping.

“Careful,” Curtis reminded when Billy’s head nearly connected with the edge of the kitchen island as Frank headed over to dig in the fridge, “princess’s gonna throw a hissy fit if you bruise his pretty face.”

“Well, he should’ve thought about that before he tried to put a bullet in me,” Frank grunted, tossing over the keys to the van parked out back. “Grab some empty bottles. We won’t have time for pee breaks.”

Curtis grimaced, “How long is the sedative going to last?”

“She said six hours, but I’ve got two more if he wakes up before we get to the safe house,” Frank replied, “you got any sandwiches, Curt?”

“No, but I can make some?”

“Alright, good man,” Frank ran a hand through his short hair, “I’ll meet you in the car. Don’t forget the coffee.”

 

* * *

 

They tied Billy’s unconscious body to the metal post in the basement of the cabin and spent the remaining hours till dawn rigging up traps around the empty safe house Gunner left behind. Curtis was a quiet calm shadow beside him as they erected a crude headstone for Gunner under one of the trees, the liquor Frank had snagged on his way out half-frozen in the snow beside them. They shared the drink between the two of them, teeth chattering and battered faces stinging in the cold.

“You know, Bill and I did this for you too,” Curtis said, “morned your death.”

Frank kept silent.

“What’s the plan, Castle?” Curtis handed him the bottle.

“Don’t know, I was thinking lay low for a while and keeping an eye on our little American Pyscho in there,” Frank drank.

“Only keeping an eye on him?”

His answering smile was full of teeth. “Oh, I’m sure there’re gonna be fists involved.”

“I think your ‘death’ finally broke him, Frank,” Curtis chuckled, his expression sad. “But then, Bill’s always been a little broken.”

 

* * *

 

“Are you going to kill me?”

Frank didn’t look up from his sandwich. Curtis had left thirty minutes ago, promising to bring more supplies at the end of next week. They had agreed upon a secret code and broadcast bandwidth.

“I have to say, this whole setup is a bit murdery even for you, Frankie boy.”

That pretty mouth was relentless. Frank took another bite.

“Gonna bury my body somewhere no-one can ever find, Castle? LOOK AT ME GODDAMNIT!” The heavy metal chains rattled around Billy’s wrists.

Frank finished chewing and wiped his mouth with the napkin at his elbow.

“Curtis’s pretty good at making sandwiches,” He said, dragging the chair over to his bound prisoner. Frank met Billy’s furious eyes. “Here’s what’s going on, Russo. We are thousands of miles away from civilization, in the middle of a cold-ass winter. Every inch of the grounds outside is rigged with traps only I know.”

“You try something,” Frank pulled out the blade at his belt, “and I’ll make you wish you were never born.”

“Or you could just kill me now,” Billy pointed out, words silky soft and poisonously persuasive. “Go on, I know you are dying to put that knife through my skull. What happened to getting vengeance for Maria and the kids?”

His jaw clenched. Billy and his silver tongue always had a way to slip past Frank’s defenses and strike where it hurt the most. Taking a deep breath to ground the rising rage, Frank looked his former best friend in the eyes and said, “death is too easy. I want you to suffer, Russo.”

He stuffed one of Gunner's ratty old undershirts into Billy’s mouth before he could speak more, and judging by the outraged flush crawling up his pale neck, it didn’t taste any better than it smelled. Flashing him a bright smile that made his bruised face ache, Frank stood and went back to the table.

Billy’s stomach rumbled loudly in the silence. He made an angry noise in the back of his throat.

Frank hid his smirk in his sandwich and took a large vindictive bite.

 

* * *

 

Their first week was something of a shitty nightmare.

Frank’s injuries were knitting back together and everything either ached or itched like crazy. The psychotic pretty boy he had locked away in the basement was not helping things by screaming himself hoarse hurling insults and death threats. Frank had lengthened the steel chains so that Billy could reach the small dirty bathroom in the corner, but instead of being grateful, the first thing he had done was attempted homicide by strangling Frank with the chains. He didn't do much harm in his weakened state, but it was still annoying as hell and Frank had used up the last bit of patience left.

Gunner kept a rusty axe in a corner, presumably for chopping firewood. Frank imagined the weight of it in his hands, swinging the axe and splitting Billy’s head open with the blunt end, smashing that infuriatingly perfect face into a mess of blood and bone.

He grabbed the axe and headed outside to vent his anger on the trees instead.

 

* * *

 

“You pulled your stitches, Frank,” Billy purred when he stumbled down the steps to throw the man a pack of MRE, or tried to purr. His voice was a bit hoarse from yelling. Frank ignored him and pulled the jacket tighter around his ribs where a spot of pink had seeped through the cotton.

“What happened? Did you have to fight someone off to defend my honor?” Billy croaked sarcastically, jerking at the chains, his eyes trained on Frank like that of a hungry lion.

“Yeah, something like that, pretty boy,” Frank replied absently. He refilled Billy’s water bottle and threw it at him. “Shut up and eat.”

“What are you having?” Billy asked, grimacing at the MRE pack.

“Pasta.” Frank rolled the word leisurely around in his mouth and a tiny part of him counted it as a victory when Billy glowered.

“Then why the hell do you keep tossing me these dry as fuck military rations? I haven’t had a proper shit since I got here!”

“The nurse said those sedative might cause constipation, I wouldn’t worry about it, it’ll come when it comes, your shit, I mean,” Frank shrugged, focusing on keeping his face expressionless.

“You are such an asshole,” Turning his back on Frank, he hunched his shoulders and sat down again.

Billy’s personality, for all his wild ambitions and evil plots, bore eerie resemblance to that of a petty child, or a moody teenage girl, and seeing him like that, Frank felt the annoyance drain from his chest, gradually being replaced with a heavy sadness that made him feel a thousand years old.

“Fine, I’ll grab you a plate.”

He did.

They ended up eating in the basement together.

Billy stabbed Frank in the thigh with his fork, but only after he inhaled the pasta and practically licked his plate clean. Frank had him backed up into the wall in seconds, his forearm braced against Billy’s swan-like neck.

He shrugged, smiling as he choked out, “gotta keep you on your toes, am I right, Frankie?”

 

* * *

 

Billy was sprawled spread-eagle on the hard wood floor while Frank whittled away at a chunk of wood left over from the pile upstairs.

“Remember how we used to watch the stars during our tour?” Billy spoke up, his soft murmur wistful.

“Yeah, the stories you told me about the constellations, I used to tell ‘em to Frank Jr. and Lisa.”

“I miss them, you know.” Billy said.

Frank didn’t ask him to elaborate. He didn’t know which would make him feel better, that Billy missed seeing the stars or Frank’s kids.

 

* * *

 

The next time Curtis radioed in to check on them, Frank asked him to bring Billy some books.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More of me not knowing where this is going. Enjoy!

“What the hell is this?”

Billy held up the book like it personally offended him.

“What are you on about?” Frank didn’t look up from the newspaper Curtis had dropped off along with two week’s worth of supplies.

“Fifty Shades of Fucking Grey, Frankie,” Billy ranted, digging deeper into the cardboard box Frank had kicked his way, “Christ, where does Curtis get these?”

“Salvation Army, donations, how should I know?” Frank snapped back, turning the page and scanning the headlines. The paper was from three days ago, and like the previous papers, there was no mention of a manhunt for one Frank Castle or Billy Russo. Curtis had been keeping an eye on things, but not much had happened, besides the constant phone calls from David badgering Curtis about Frank’s whereabouts.

“This isn’t even fit for toilet paper,” Billy drawled, “toss it into the fire on your way up, will you?”

The paperback book smacked Frank in the back of the head. He closed his eyes briefly, sucking in a deep breath against the strong urge to throttle the infuriating man chained against the pipe.

“Or keep it, if you’re into that type of shit,” Billy continued silkily, “but then, you do have me chained in your basement, Frankie. Should I be scared?”

He laughed, the sound sharp and bitter, when Frank approached, invading his space until Billy’s shoulder blades dug into the brick wall behind his back. Billy’s dark eyes were bright like shiny buttons. It was like looking into the eyes of a doll, empty and cold.

“Do it, Frank,” Billy whispered, his cool breath brushing the skin of Frank’s cheek, “I know you want to.”

Frank grabbed him by the neck and forced Billy to meet his eyes.

“What do you want me to do, Bill?” He asked, and saw something flared behind the careful mask like a ripple in a still pond.

“You know, Frankie boy, you’ve always known,” Bill bit his lip, white teeth sinking into pink flesh as he smiled back, silent and mocking.

 

* * *

 

He dreamt of her, Maria.

 _Come home,_ Frank, she said, _come home to us._

_Daddy, won’t you come with us?_

His baby girl.

Frank wanted, he wanted so badly to reach out and never let go.

 _I can’t,_ he said instead.

He watched them go, the bright cream of Maria’s sundress fading into the darkness. Frank closed his eyes, exhaling shakily and felt cold hands slither over his bare chest, blunt nails digging into his flesh, the firm familiar weight of someone at his back.

 _Why, Frankie?_ Billy whispered in his ear, cold lips against his skin. _Why did you choose me over them?_

Frank snapped awake, heart pounding and drenched in cold sweat. He dug the heels of his palms into his eyes and groaned.

“Fuck.”

 

* * *

 

The days started to bleed together holed up in the small cabin away from civilization, and Frank’s facial hair went off script, growing into a wild tangled mess. Billy delighted in making fun of him for looking like a homeless bum, not that he was much better off, what with his perfect hair now long enough to fall into his eyes, and the lower half of his face hidden beneath an equally impressive beard.

Frank finally caved in after six days of endless whining complaints and hacked the excess hair off his face. He tied Billy back against the post and did the same for him, using the shaving supplies left from Curtis’s last visit and an old-fashioned razor blade.

It was the first time in a week since Frank had last physically touched him.

“Keep still, princess,” Frank muttered, impatient to get it over with. “You wouldn’t want me to knick an artery, would you?”

“Maybe I do,” Billy whispered, Adam’s apple bobbing beneath Frank’s rough thumb. He smiled, eyes hooded. Frank gave a warning squeeze around his slender throat and kept silent.

It was a mechanical process, running the sharp blade against Billy’s face, revealing more and more of that pale milky skin, yet it was somehow twistingly intimate. He could feel Billy’s pulse thundering beneath his gun-calloused palm, lightning quick.

“Why?” Frank asked suddenly, breaking the silence between them. He cleaned the razor blade on the wet towel on his knee.

“Why what?” Bill’s eyes followed the blade, flickering down to Frank’s thigh before snapping back up to his face.

“Why did you do it, Bill?” The words felt like glass shards lodged in Frank’s throat, but he pushed them out anyway. He had to know, had to hear it from Billy. “Why did you go to Rawlins when you had us, when you had me?”

“Did I, Frankie?” Billy’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, “Maria had you. Me, I had a hole, a void I couldn’t fill with money or women. After our discharge, Rawlins reach out to me first, he gave me something to do. You know us soldiers love being given a task.”

“So you were just bored?” Frank squeezed out between clenched teeth.

“Something like that, yes.” Billy’s smile was infuriatingly fake.

Frank didn’t realize he had tightened the fingers around Bill’s throat until he choked, arching away from the onslaught of Frank’s fury. The razor blade sliced a thin line of blood into the skin of Billy’s flawless cheek.

“And Maria?” Frank growled, forcing his fingers to relax.

“I found out after,” Bill rasped, “he had been talking about cleaning up after Operation Cerberus a few weeks before the hit, but I didn’t know it was you.”

“You’re lying,” Frank snarled.

“Why would I?” Billy laughed, “believe it or not, I actually liked your wife.”

“Why didn’t you do anything, then?”

“You think I didn’t want to? I would’ve put a bullet in Rawlin’s head a long long time ago, but you don’t shit where you eat, Frankie,” He shrugged, “and he had information about me that I would rather had kept hidden.”

Billy looked him in the eyes and said, “for what it's worth, I am sorry about what happened to Maria and the kids.”

“Do you even remember them?” Frank choked out. His hands were trembling, clumsy and uncoordinated around the handle of the razor.

Billy’s eyes fluttered shut, an almost fond smile lingering on his lips, “Little Frank Jr. always full of shit like his daddy, but so so protective of those he called family, and Lisa, beautiful, smart, sassy Lisa who always came up with the best comebacks. How could I forget?”

“I swear, the crap that comes flowing out of your mouth, Bill,” Frank ran his thumb over the corner of Billy’s lips, smearing a bright streak of red against the pale skin. He hadn’t even felt the razor blade nick his own thumb. Everything felt unreal, numb. “Hell, how could I ever believe you again?”

“You know, I would have died for you, Bill, laid down my life without hesitation had you asked,” He murmured, tracing the curve of Bill’s mouth, such a pretty yet poisonous thing, “the old you, anyway.”

Bill’s tongue darted out to lick his thumb, sending a sharp prick of pain through the shallow cut that went straight to Frank’s chest. He slipped the digit past Billy’s lips, felt him relax his jaw, that silver serpent’s tongue soft and pliant beneath his finger. Then, the trance broke and Frank pulled away, pocketing the razor and getting to his feet.

Billy was watching him with hooded eyes.

“Some soldiers were never meant to come back from the war, Frankie."

 Frank studied him for a long moment.

"You’re right. I should’ve left you to die.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want them to reconcile, since I am used to writing fluff and this is going down the hate sex lane really fast, but I don't know how to get them to the reconcile bit, lol. There might be Daredevil cameos later on. 
> 
> Drop me a comment for motivation! Lots of Love!


	3. Interlude I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a flashback chapter. The second part of the flashback will be in Billy's perspective. I think. I might try it and see how it goes.

If Frank was to be honest, completely honest, he liked being a soldier. He liked taking orders, liked the way his whole world narrowed to a single objective - kill or save, it often came down to one or the other. Life was less complicated when you were in a war zone, when all the nuances of human interactions were stripped away and it came down to pure violence and power. It felt like coming home the first time Frank took out an enemy soldier, when he finally embracing the dormant urges he had tried so hard to suppress all his life. Frank was good at killing, so good that his commander eventually transferred him to the special ops division in Afghanistan.

Five days in, he met Billy.

Frank had gone out to fill his water bottle when he spotted the soldier standing motionlessly by the medical tent. The man's face was covered in two weeks worth of beard and dried blood, but he was still decked out in his bulky combat gear.

“Mr. Russo, you can’t see him yet,” the nurse blocking the entrance said with the patient air of someone who had repeated the same words not very long ago.

“Billy, you need to go wash up and get some rest,” Curtis Hoyle finally intervened. Stepping outside, he threw an arm around the soldier's neck and forcibly dragged him away from medical. Frank had been introduced to the combat doctor by his new commander two days ago and he seemed like a decent guy.

“Frank,” Curtis had spotted him. Frank gave him a short wave, not bothering to speak.

“You met Frank yet, Bill? He’s new to the base,” Curtis pulled the disgruntled young man over to the water tap and gestured at Frank. “Frank Castle, meet our resident pretty boy, Billy Russo, but don’t let his looks fool you. Kid’s a fighter.”

Frank did the polite thing and extended his water bottle to Russo. Something akin to surprise darted over the kid’s delicate aristocratic features, then he smiled, a fake devious thing that never reached his dark eyes and took the water bottle. Their fingers brushed, and over the boy’s head, Curtis mouthed ‘ _keep an eye on him for me, please_ ’ at Frank.

So that was how he was saddled with glaring mulishly at the annoyingly energetic Billy Russo who apparently would stop at nothing to sneak into the medical tent and see his injured teammate.

“Fine, I’ll stop,” He muttered after Frank finally lost his patience and pinned his struggling body to the ground with a knee to the back. Cursing softly under his breath in what Frank was sure wasn’t English, the kid staggered to his feet, walked over to the tap and dunked his head under the thin stream of water. He looked even younger without blood and dirt crusting half of his face.

“Why do you care anyway?” He asked, taking a seat next to Frank, who had casually walked over to stand between him and the infirmary. Billy rolled his eyes skyward and flicked a strand of wet hair out his eyes. He turned to study Frank for the first time.

“You’re one of those _strong silent types_ , aren’t you?” The kid groaned, “the guys are going to fucking love you. All brawn and no brain, just like them.”

Frank stayed silent.

“I suppose I should thank you for the water,” He mused, not bothered by the lack of response, “you know, that Southern gentleman act will get you killed out in the field. Paul’s just like you,” Billy’s voice wavered slightly, “his left leg got blown off ‘cause he offered to sweep the field. I was supposed to do it this time.”

“The guy in medical?” Frank finally opened his mouth.

“ _It speaks,_ ” The kid chuckles half-heartedly. “Yeah, he was a decent guy."

“Is,” Frank corrected for him.

“There was so much blood I couldn’t even hold on to him properly, my hands kept slipping, and the smell,” Billy swallowed thickly and looked away. Frank nudged his water bottle forward again and the kid loosened the cap with shaky fingers. He gulped down some liquid and took a few deep breaths to suppress the urge to vomit.

“How old are you, Russo?” Frank asked with a frown.

“Old enough to be here,” He bristled immediately, the vulnerability disappearing under a well-practiced mask. Billy got unsteadily to his feet, his mouth twisted into something bitter. He tossed Frank his water bottle. “Thanks for the pep talk, Castle. I’ll see you around.”

 

* * *

 

He soon figured out that Billy was extremely good at what he did, but wasn’t very close with anyone on the base, except for that recently honorably discharged Paul guy. He also seemed to hate being reminded of his good looks by their teammates. Frank saw the flare of anger and clenched jaw every time someone called him 'pretty boy.’ Someone more sensitive would probably have caught on by now, but the men around them were hardened soldiers who gave zero fucks, and like high school jocks, seemed to revel in name-calling and crude humor.

Somehow, Billy seemed to have come to the conclusion that Frank was one of them.

 

* * *

 

“Sorry the guys hid your book, Russo. It was only a stupid prank.” He found the kid perched on the roof of a nearby dirt hut one night, staring up at the smattering of stars overhead. He swiftly screwed his eyes shut at sight of Frank.

“Am I supposed to thank you or something, Castle?” Billy’s voice was low, but the sarcasm was not lost to him. “A hand job, perhaps?”

“No,” He sat down next to the kid and balanced the book gently on his chiseled stomach. “You into that kind of thing?”

“No,” Billy snapped, dark eyes sliding open.

Frank’s lip twitched, “Dorian Grey, what’s it about? I see you reading it all the time.”

“It’s called a book, Neanderthal,” The kid drawled nastily, crossing his legs. “the squiggly things inside are words.”

“Hey, give it back!” He yelped when Frank snatched it back in retaliation. He peered at the glossy cover. It was an old book, but obviously handled with love and care.

“Lady in front looks like you, kiddo.”

“ _Hilarious_ , Castle.”

“Seriously, what’s it about?”

Exhaling irritably, Billy sat up. “What’s your deal?”

“What do you mean?”

“What do you want from me?” Billy asked.

“Why do you think I want something?” Frank shot back.

“Because everybody wants something.” His eyes were cold when he said those words.

“You know what, I do want something,” Frank replied, feeling a twinge of sadness at the sight of the kid’s ‘I told you' expression, “I want you to have your book back.”

Billy gaped wordlessly at him. Frank held the novel out to him. The kid took the book back, and for once, the silence between them didn't feel like a loaded gun. 

“It was a present from one of the sisters at the orphanage,” Billy said finally, tracing a finger over the cracked spine, “it’s about a young man’s narcissistic obsession with external beauty.”

“So basically you?”

Billy glared at him, “well, certainly not you. That patch of wet mud under that tree is more appetizing than your ugly mug, Castle.”

Frank barked out a sharp laugh, “I will push you off this roof, kid, no matter how pretty you are.”

“Asshole,” Billy grinned.

“Doll-face,” Frank shot back.

Billy groaned, “that’s gross, Castle. Take it back.”

 

* * *

 

They became a lot closer after that night, and the men around Frank slowly accepted Billy’s presence, their joking jests turning into friendly banter. Billy returned the attention with polite indifference, but he seemed to genuinely enjoy Frank’s company.

A month into his new post, Maria sent him his old guitar from home along with a lengthy letter and a picture of her and little Lisa all decked out in matching blue sundresses.

“No way, you play the guitar? You’re fucking with me, Frankie,” Billy flopped onto Frank’s bunk, still wearing his mud-splattered fatigues and getting dirt everywhere. He strummed the strings curiously, completely ignoring Frank’s attempts to boot him off the bed. Tucking a fist under his chin, Billy fluttered his long lashes at him and mimicked in a nauseatingly breathlessly simper, “sing me a tune, soldier.”

“You’re shameless, Russo,” Frank snorted, tucking the precious letter from his wife into his breast pocket. A couple of men from their unit were looking in their direction.

Billy cackled, dark eyes twinkling with mirth, “come on, Frankie, we all know you didn’t land that fine fine lady of yours with that ugly mug.”

A few men chuckled, and somebody whistled. Rolling his eyes, Frank picked up the instrument and tucked it carefully back inside the case. It calmed him, music, helped keep that restless bloodlust dormant. Maria had loved to hear him sing her favorite song.

“I don’t do it for just anybody, doll,” Frank flicked Billy in the forehead and got to his feet just in time to see their commanding officer walk in with another man in tow. Billy scrambled upright, rubbing at the red mark on his face. He elbowed Frank painfully in the side with a scowl.

“At ease, everyone,” Commander Schoonover said to the room, “this is Agent Orange of the CIA. A handful of you will have the privilege of working with him on a top-secret government task force,” then, turning to the short man, he said, “Agent Orange, will you do the honors?”

Agent Orange went around the room, leisurely picking out Frank’ teammates. He came to a stop in front of him and Billy. Expressionless eyes flicked down to the picture of Maria and Lisa Frank had left on his bed in his haste.

“Frank Castle, William Russo,” He said with a thin smile, “welcome to the Cerberus Squad.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment? I'd love to discuss any ideas. I do plan on having Frank go back to NYC and run into Red, although I'm a bit confused about the Defenders timeline, and I didn't see that one, because it seemed soooo boring... I'm not a big fan of Elektra.


	4. Interlude II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the second interlude in Billy's POV. Next chapter will be back to the present. Enjoy and drop me a comment! Happy 2018!

“ _Raven_ , huh?”

Frank didn't move to make space for him when Billy sat down at the edge of his cot, their shoulders close enough to brush. It was a comforting thing, to be able to feel the heat of another human being in these times of war.

“Code name’s not exactly your style," he went on, passing Frank the yellow envelope Agent Orange had told them to go over together.

“Why’s that?” Frank tore open the package and unfolded the piece of paper inside. It was a single blurry photo of a man with the caption: _Locate and Transport._ He read over the second page, carefully committing the details to memory.

“Well, I’d say you’re more of a shoebill kind of guy, Frankie,” Billy dropped his head onto the small of Frank’s back and mused out loud.

“What’s that?” He asked absently.

“Google it,” Billy goaded, his smile faltering when Frank’s distracted frown didn’t lighten up. “Something wrong?”

“We’ve got different missions, Bill,” Frank held up the file, and when Billy scanned the locations, they had indeed been assigned different routes. “Did Agent Orange give you something extra?”

“No,” Billy lied smoothly, “I don’t know why we have different assignments, Frankie.”

Orange had given him the additional task of killing a man, but Frank didn’t need to know. That information was strictly between Bill and Agent Orange. He had learned early on that in Frank’s eyes, Billy Russo was the innocent kid who wouldn’t hurt a fly. In all their time together, Frank had adopted him as a sort of younger brother, something that Billy had had a hard time understanding at first, but as time passed, he found himself enjoying the small gruff gestures of affection from Frank. He wanted to keep things that way. There was no need for Frank to find out how much blood was on his hands.

“I don’t trust him,” Frank said, his breath ghosting over Bill’s neck when he reached around him for the small worn football lying on the bedside table.

“Not that I do, but why?” Billy asked.

“Something about the guy is off,” Frank muttered, squeezing the football, “I can’t put it into words exactly, but I can feel it, you know?”

Years later, Billy would think back to that moment and come up with the exact word Frank had struggled to find.

_Evil._

“Just…be safe, kid, ok?” Frank’s eyes were so sincere, like he actually gave a rat’s ass about whether Bill came back or not.

Swallowing past the sudden lump in his throat, Billy smiled, “I will, you too.”

They headed out next morning before the sun comes out. He was standing on the tarmac waiting for the chopper to land when Frank approached from behind, a simple bag slung over his shoulder and pulled Billy to him in a one-armed hug.

His rough jaw pressed against Bill’s temple as Frank yelled, “don’t do anything stupid, _Blackbird._ ”

 

* * *

 

Of course, he had to go and do something stupid.

There really were not words adequate to describe the struggling panic of drawing breath into lungs slowly filling with blood. Billy couldn’t suppress the hacking coughs, but more blood bubbled out than air, and there were black dots creeping into the edges of his vision.

“Hol-hold on,” He gurgled at the teammate lying beside him, but the eyes reflecting back at him were blank and dead. Charlie had taken most of the shrapnel, but Bill had also been nicked in several places.

He was going to die, lying in a dirty abandoned building in Afghanistan, millions of miles away from home, and no one would care.

_No one would remember-_

“Bill, hang in there, I’m here, doll, I’m here…” He must have blacked out for a while because there were now hands on him, one pair shaking and smoothing blood-soaked hair away from his pale face and the other more steady pair easing him onto his side and cutting away the buckles and binding on his chest to get to flesh. Bill felt the sharp press of something into his skin, and then, there was glorious air, laced with the acrid scent of burnt flesh and dust, but he could finally breath again.

“Jesus Christ, kid, I take my eyes off you for one second,” Frank’s face, streaked with dried blood and sand, floated into view. Billy reached for him, eyes suddenly watering, and the older man hauled him close, carefully tucking him protectively against his chest. Bill tried to speak past the thick sticky blood in his nose and mouth, but Frank shushed him.

“You’re safe, I’ve got you,” He murmured, and Bill slowly allowed himself to sink into darkness.

He woke briefly on the ride back to base, fiery pain coursing through his veins with every broken breath. Bill heard muffled shouting and saw a flash of Agent Orange’s livid face, spittle flying as he screamed at Frank who was crouched protectively over Billy’s wounded body. Curtis was hovering anxiously over them both, thinly-vailed disgust directed at the CIA agent.

 _I love you,_ Bill thought serenely in the chaos.

“I love you too, kiddo,” Frank’s anger seemed to dissipate at the sight of his open eyes, and his teammate, his brother-in-arms, reached over and clasped Bill’s hand tightly in his.

“Not ever gonna leave you behind, Bill, no matter what.” He felt the brief press of Frank’s beard-rough lips against the skin over his knuckles.

A silent promise.

Billy closed his eyes.

 

* * *

 

Billy heard the soft steady strumming of guitar strings when he next opened his eyes. There was a familiar weight at the foot of the cot where he laid, covered in tubes and hooked up to various monitors. Frank was bent over the instrument, fingers moving with ease over the guitar.

“Sing me a tune, soldier,” Billy croaked, smiling a little when Frank looked up sharply at the sound of his voice.

“You little turd,” Frank growled, but Billy saw the way his shoulders sagged with barely suppressed relief. Setting the guitar down, Frank grabbed the cup of ice on the bedside table and slipped a small piece between Bill’s parched lips. “You’ve been out for three days.”

“Curtis let you in?” Grimacing at the news, Bill tried to sit up and winced in discomfort. Frank’s hand curled warningly around his left shoulder.

“He forced his way inside,” Curtis’s voice came from somewhere to his left, and Billy turned to see his other close friend smiling down at him. “Welcome back to the land of the living, Captain Russo.”

“Hey, Curt,” He greeted, spluttering a little when Frank stuck more ice into his mouth.

“Gently, Castle,” Curtis reprimanded, “we just got him back.”

“Can I get another nurse?” Billy asked weakly.

“Behave yourselves, ok?” Curtis shook his head, his soft chuckles echoing down the hall as his footsteps faded away, leaving the two of them alone.

“So why were you and Charlie in that restricted building?” Frank was never one to beat around the bush. Billy quickly contemplated the pros and cons of lying and decided against it.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” He said instead, “Orange said it was supposed to be top-secret. He-”

“Look, Bill,” Frank cut him off before he could pin more blame on the CIA agent. He reached out a hand, and to Billy’s surprise, cupped the back of his neck with a warm gun-calloused palm, “you’re my brother, and I love you like family, but I gotta know you’re on my side, that I can trust you as much as you can trust me. That means not keeping secrets from each other. We are a team, you and I, aren’t we?”

“Yeah, Frankie, we are,” Eyes fluttering shut, Bill allowed him to bring their foreheads together. His heart was pounding, and the monitor was making that known in a very embarrassing and loud way, but Frank didn’t pull away when Billy wound his fingers tightly around his wrist and held on. He dropped his head against Frank’s shoulder and took in a deep slow breath, the terrors of his close encounter with death slowly starting to fade.

“Alright, doll, what do you want to hear?”

Billy almost missed the question.

“What?” He blinked, eyelashes tickling the side of Frank’s unshaven face.

“You wanted to hear me sing, didn’t you?” Came the gruff, somewhat resigned reply, and Bill hid his smile in Frank’s fatigues.

“Whatever comes to mind,” He said, making it easy for the guy, the underlying _what do you think of when you look at me_ an unspoken thing between them.

Frank paused and thought for a while before his fingers began to move over the guitar strings.

 _Blackbird singing in the dead of night_  
_Take these broken wings and learn to fly_  
_All your life_  
_You were only waiting for this moment to arise_

 _Blackbird singing in the dead of night_  
_Take these sunken eyes and learn to see_  
_All your life_  
_You were only waiting for this moment to be free_

He closed his eyes to the soft sound of Frank Castle’s voice, and for someone who had no definition of the word love, Billy was almost a hundred percent sure whatever he was feeling right at that moment was, in all essence of the word-

_Love._

 

* * *

 

“Russo!”

Billy lifted his head from his pillow, “what?”

“You have a care package, soldier,” His commander said gruffly, and under everyone’s curious eyes, Bill got up from his bunk slowly and accepted the wrapped lump.

“Is this someone’s idea of a joke?” He asked the room at large, heart pounding and the ugly searingly bitter rage that had laid dormant for years starting to resurface.

“Open it, sir,” One of his teammates encouraged. It was Christmas after all, and even these hardened men were not immune to the idea of a Christmas time miracle. Billy on the other hand, was highly suspicious. He had never received anything during these package deliveries, one of the many delights of being an orphan without a family.

Tearing apart the festive glossy wrapping paper, he pulled out a soft sweater, the horrible mustard green and maroon colors clashing to create what looked like the most hideous fashion statement of the century, the lovechild of some eccentric cat lady and avant garde designer. A paperback novel fell out from inside the sweater, Mary Shelley’s _Frankenstein_. Billy flipped open the cover to find a few sentences written in neat flowery cursive:

**_Although we’ve never met, Bill, Frank writes a lot about you in his letters home. He mentioned your love for books, and I have included my own favorite in hopes that you might find it enjoyable. I also included a Castle Family tradition. I would love it if you two wore them and took a picture together. Happy holidays. Stay safe._ **

**_Love,_ **  
**_Maria and Family._ **

Billy traced a finger reverently over the words, awe and something hot expanding rapidly inside his chest.

“How the hell did mine wind up even uglier than yours?” Frank’s voice came from the other side of the room. Bill turned to see the other man frowning critically down at the lopsided, possibly hung-over Santa on his purple sweater.

“Good God, can we get a priest in here?” Bill laughed, dodging the haphazardly thrown football, the air whooshing out of his lungs when Frank caught him in a tackle and slung him over a broad shoulder.

“She sent me a book,” Bill gasped, out of breath and bright red from laughter, when Frank finally threw him down onto his bunk. He held it up and showed Frank the ugly pasty monster on the cover and said gleefully, “dude in front looks like you, Frankie. You guys even have the same first name.”

“Asshole,” Frank growled atop him.

“I think I’m in love,” Billy sighed, clutching the book to his chest and smiling dreamily up at Frank.

“She’s mine, pretty boy,” Frank reminded, flicking him on the forehead and rolling off of Bill to grab his sweater. “Go on, put it on. Maria wants a picture.”

Still grinning, Billy shrugged it on obediently, his hair a complete frazzled mess from the static electricity. Frank slung a heavy arm over his shoulder and called over to their newest recruit, “Hey Gunner, can you come over here and take a picture of us for my old lady at home?”

“FB, huh?” Gunner glanced at the abominations they were wearing, “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s the letter of our first names,” Frank said just as Billy murmured contemplatively, “Flat Bread? Fuck-Bo-” Frank’s hand clamping over his mouth stopped the rest of the word. Gunner snorted, shaking his head.

“Ready, Captain? Say cheese!”

 

* * *

 

“What the hell was that?” Frank demanded angrily, fisting the front of Bill’s shirt and slamming him against the side of the building, "why did you defy an official order from above, Bill? You almost got the target killed. What part of 'protective detail' do you not understand?”

“He had pictures, goddamn it!” Billy screamed back, frustration and anger throbbing inside his chest. His eyes burned, remembering the brief sick smile the man had given him when Billy had accidentally seen them. It was that same smug oily expression he’d seen on the face of the man who had torn his shoulder wide open all those years ago, and the flood of memories came back along with the savage need to kill, to destroy.

“What?” Frank’s voice had quieted, his large hands coming to rest around Bill’s neck, the potential strength in them not threatening, but actually grounding him and making it a little easier to breath. He could trust Frank, if not anyone else.

“He had pictures,” Bill swallowed, “...of children, Frankie, I couldn't-”

“Fucking hell, kid,” Frank groaned, and the next second, his arms were around Billy, pressing him tightly to his chest, and although they were the same height, Bill sagged against him, suddenly drained. He had told Frank about the scar on his shoulder one night, when their teams had camped out under the stars for a mission in the dunes miles away from civilization.

“I’m sorry,” Frank whispered, “I’m sorry I lost my temper. You ok, Bill?”

“I’m fine, it’s all in the past, but-” Sighing, Billy ran a hand through his hair and glanced away, “-what now?”

“Orange is furious.”

Billy snorted, “Obviously.”

“He put my team on his detail,” Frank added reluctantly, “we’re heading out in a couple of hours.”

“He’s a terrorist and a pedophile,” Billy pointed out.

“I know,” Hands tightening briefly around Bill’s shoulders, Frank looked positively murderous. A tendril of something dark and greedy expanded within Billy, and while a part of him, the residual kindness left over from his childhood days, wept and hesitated, the rest did not.

He _wanted._

Pressing the flat of his palm against Frank’s chest, he leaned close and whispered, “Do what you think is right, Frankie.”

Planting the poisonous seed, the Serpent in the Garden of Eden, seducing Eve to fall.

He pulled away, knowing and triumphant at the finality in Frank’s face.

“Safe trip, Raven.”

 

* * *

 

Frank’s knuckles were torn when he got back from the mission, still bleeding sluggishly past the congealing tears and scrapes.

“It was an accident,” He rumbled when Billy asked, but didn’t object when Billy pulled him aside and offered to bandage his hands. His fingers were gentle as he washed away the dirt and dry blood to reveal the gashes and bruising. More blood welled up, coating Frank’s rough knuckles in bright red.

Hypnotized, Billy lifted his hand and pressed his mouth to the wounds, the metallic tang of Frank’s blood seeping through his parted lips. Frank’s breath hitched, his thumb tracing the streak of red at the corner of Billy’s mouth, rubbing his own blood into Billy’s pale porcelain skin.

They stared at each other in silence.

Bill was dimly aware that he was hard.

Eyes still on Frank, he licked his lips clean of the man's drying blood and reached for the bandages.

 

* * *

 

 _…found beaten to a bloody pulp…skull caved in, tortured…do_ n’t _know how they got to him..._

Agent Orange’s furious howls were muffled by the heavy tent flaps, but Billy had heard enough from the horrified whispers of Frank’s team as they trudged back into their quarters.

Frank was still in the debriefing tent with their commander and Agent Orange.

Billy leaned back against the wall and smiled.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter is rated EXPLICIT for sexual content. 
> 
> Gah! I wrote sex for the first time and it's for the Punisher series! Who would've known?! I had always thought my first time would be for Stucky or Spideypool... I'm flailing. It's so hard! (that was not a pun btw) 
> 
> Drop me a comment please!
> 
> *Runs away*

Frank should’ve known they would eventually catch up to him, all the enemies he’d made over the years. The list of people who wanted him dead was pretty long. Usually Frank had no trouble dealing with the mercenaries sent to kill him, but the months holes away from civilization and Gunner’s traps around the cabin had lowered his guards. Or maybe it was Billy’s fault for getting into his head like a parasite and staying there, spreading his influence and occupying his thoughts day and night.

The point was, Frank should have seen the men coming a mile away, but he didn’t. Instead, they ambushed him as he was heading back to the cabin with a week’s worth of freshly chopped firewood.

When Frank regained consciousness, his head was throbbing and there was a small puddle of congealing blood on the carpet between his splayed legs. His arms were bound behind his back, but he didn’t make the connection until Bill, freshly showered and clean-shaven, walked out of the adjacent bathroom dressed in one of Frank’s old henleys and soft sweats. He smiled thinly, a quick flash of silver white teeth in the dimly lit room.

“Hey,” Billy said softly. He crouched down in front of Frank. Something stirred in the shadows behind his old teammate, and Frank, head still feeling like it was stuffed full of cotton, reacted purely on instinct.

“Run,” He slurred at Bill, who, for a split second, looked taken aback at the words. Then, a small wistful smile spread across Russo’s handsome face.

“Oh, Frankie,” He murmured, catching Frank’s bruised jaw in his fingers and lifting his chin, “still so fucking noble. They’re not here for you. Well, not technically.”

The two men walked into the light behind Bill, their postures relaxed as they conversed in low Russian. One of them glanced briefly at Bill and tossed him a Glock 19.

“Hurry up,” The man said in heavily accented English, “stop playing with your food, Russo.”

“Did you really think I wouldn’t have a few backup plans?” Bill continued in that oddly gentle tone. His fingers trailed down Frank’s neck toward his heaving chest. Those shiny black eyes never left Frank’s furious face, “it took them a few weeks, but they found me.”

“You going to fuck him or kill him?” A third voice asked from somewhere outside of Frank’s line of vision. Bill’s jaw clenched in annoyance, the long fingers of his right hand tightening around the gun in his lap.

“Go away, Buturovich. Let me have this,” He glared sullenly at the man, tearing his gaze briefly away from Frank, who contemplated the logistics of head-butting the man, but the hard muzzle of the gun against his chest stopped him short. Billy smiled, sweet as can be, “unlike you, I learn from my mistakes.”

“No, you don’t,” Frank spat back, “otherwise, you’d’ve stopped digging your own grave a long time ago.”

“We’re all digging our graves, not just me,” Billy replied lightly. He splayed his fingers over Frank’s chest, his palm warm against the skin over Frank's heart, “you know, when you left, you took a piece of me, Castle, I’d like to have it back now.”

Frank laughed until his ribs were aching something fierce. God, the kid was a fucking drama queen.

“You think it’ll make you feel better if you killed me?” He bared his bloodied teeth at Billy, “you’re already fucking dead inside. When was the last time you felt alive, Bill?”

Something that looked akin to hunger flashed across Bill’s face, and when he next leaned close, his hand found the inside of Frank’s thigh.

“The last time I felt alive, you ask?” Bill murmured speculatively against Frank’s ear, hot breath tickling his skin, “when I found out you weren’t dead...”

Frank screwed his eyes shut at the words.

“I fucked her, you know, Madani, or whatever her name was,” Billy went on, his fingertips brushing against the bulge in Frank’s jeans. He wasn’t hard, but that didn’t seem to bother Russo, who smiled crookedly and went on, “when I was fucking her, all I could see was you, Frankie. God, I fucking couldn’t stop thinking about you.” Bill’s lips brushed against his rough jaw, “I still wanted you, and I hated myself for it.”

Frank’s labored breath hitched at the soft confession.

Billy sat back abruptly, the sudden loss of body heat making Frank’s eyes snap open in surprise. The brunet smiled coyly and licked his blood-red lips, “you’re hard, Raven.”

He looked so pleased with himself, the psychotic idiot. Practically preening under the attention.

“So what?” Frank shot back and watched calmly as the smug look disappeared from Billy’s face. The younger man surged forward, slamming Frank back against the wall as he smashed their lips together in a violent kiss. Frank kept his jaw tightly shut no matter how much Bill bit at his lips, and after a few fumbling seconds, he reared back with a growl of frustration and backhanded Frank across the face.

Frank spat. It came out red. He took a slow breath and leaned back against the wall. “What do you want, Bill?”

Billy ran an unsteady hand through his hair. He swallowed. “I— ”

“You want me to fuck you? Is that it?” Frank asked in a monotone. Billy’s eyes were red-rimmed. He looked a little spooked, less certain of things now.

“Or,” Frank continued, “do you just want my attention?”

His jaw clenched.

“Cause you already have my attention, you dumb cunt,” Frank snarled and snapped the zip tie around his wrists. Billy recoiled in surprise, but Frank already had one hand around his neck.

The floor in the small bedroom was carpeted, so their little struggle produced virtually no sound. The three men who had come to Billy’s aid were holed up in the living room waiting impatiently for him. Frank could hear their muffled conversation past the rush of blood in his ears. They hadn’t paused, not even when Frank kneed Billy in the stomach and wrestled the Glock out of his lax fingers. Russo went limp beneath him, panting softly and dark lashes fluttering in that porcelain doll-like face.

Why would God create such a perfect exterior to house such a grotesque soul?

“Either kill me or kiss me, Frank. I can’t fucking take another minute of this crap,” Billy hissed up at him, his fingers curled tightly in the fabric of Frank’s rumpled shirt.

“How many?” Frank asked, grabbing him by the jaw.

“What?” Russo blinked up at him, and in the dim lamplight, Frank saw that his pupils were so dilated that the brown irises around them were barely visible.

“Out there, your goons. How many?” Frank growled.

Bill licked his lips. “Five,” He said after a pause.

“If you lie to me, I will skin you alive, Russo,” Frank told him. “Stay here.”

“Make me,” Bill shot back like a massive infant. He choked promptly when Frank hauled him up by the neck and stuck his tongue down Russo’s throat. He tasted like the peppermint toothpaste Frank had sitting in the bathroom alongside his single blue toothbrush.

“You used my toothbrush, you fucking animal,” Frank accused when their lips separated. Billy’s cheeks were a faint shade of pink and there was something pressing insistently against Frank’s left thigh, but the kid still had the nerve to flip him the bird.

“Stay,” Frank repeated.

Billy kept quiet this time around.

 

* * *

 

There were seven men outside.

Frank took out two by surprise when he emerged from the bedroom, still very much alive, but his Glock soon ran out of bullets, which was apparently something that the five remaining Russian mobsters didn’t seem to have a problem with. He managed to reach the little corner kitchen without getting shot full of holes. A stray round clipped his bicep, but Frank dispatched the man with a cutlet knife to the face.

There were two more men standing when the bedroom door opened and Russo came crawling out on all fours, a hand pressed to his abdomen like he was injured.

“Help me,” He reached for the closest man, who paused distractedly.

It was enough time for Bill to kick the guy in the face and grab his gun. He shot the man under the jaw in an explosive shower of blood and bone. The remaining Russian cursed and turned to Billy with his gun raised, but Frank grabbed one of the old cast-iron pans off the stove and slammed it into the back of his head. He crumpled to the ground as Bill stood, the top half of his body covered in blood.

“You said five,” Frank snapped, dropping his pan with a solid clunk. He was bleeding sluggishly on one arm.

“I helped you with the last two,” Bill shrugged and sidled over to him eagerly. “You gonna spank me like you promised, Frankie?”

A vein pulsed in Frank’s neck, “I said I was going to skin you.”

“Tomayto, tomahto,” Bill waved a dismissive hand. He lifted the semi-automatic in his arms and asked lightly, “are you going to fuck me or fight me?”

Frank shoved the gun aside and crowded the younger man against the kitchen counter. “What do you think, Russo?”

 

* * *

 

There was a newly opened bottle of extra virgin olive oil sitting by the stove. Curtis had brought it the last time he’d come for a supply run, but Frank was pretty sure his friend hadn’t meant for the two of them to use it for sex. But here they were, shoving at one another and adding spots of oil to the mess of blood and sweat on their clothes.

Billy had cackled at the ‘extra virgin’ bit, but when Frank shoved the third digit up his pale ass, the laugh petered off into a strangled breathy moan. His eyes fluttered shut and Billy rocked back on the rough intrusion.

“You sure this is your first time?” Frank asked, “your ass seems pretty familiar with the drill, Bill.”

“You think I let every man do this to me?” Billy bit his neck in retaliation and reached down to tug on his hard dick. Frank growled and squeezed his free hand threateningly around the other man’s neck.

“Just put it in me already, fuck, it’s not rocket science,” Billy panted, wrapping a long leg around Frank’s hips and drawing him in.

“Shut up, you’re like an old woman,” Frank silenced him with a hard kiss and pressed the fat head of his cock to the pink oil-slicked furl. He swallowed hard and glanced up at Bill, “you sure about this, kid?”

“God, Castle, you can’t even get hate sex right,” Billy choked out on an exhale. His voice shook and there was wetness gathering at the corners of his eyes. Frank sighed and reached out to draw the younger man into his arms, ignoring the pinprick of pain when Billy sank his teeth into his shoulder.

“Bill, I don’t,” He tried to say, but the words seemed to stick inside his throat, “it’s not— ”

“Don’t make me beg you, Frank,” Billy whispered in his ear. He finally pushed inside that slick heat, Russo’s voice moaning encouragement at him all the while. It had been years since Frank had had sex with anyone other than his left hand, and with the adrenaline of the fight still coursing through his system, it was easy to get lost in the pleasure of being inside another person. He hoisted one of Billy’s naked thighs over his hip and shoved in deep.

Again and again.

Bill’s arms snaked around Frank’s neck, clinging tightly and muffling his loud grunts into Frank’s shoulder.

“Still feeling empty, pretty boy?” Frank pinched one of his nipples and felt Billy clench around him, startled.

“You are such a dick,” Russo gasped, nipping his ear. Frank laughed and bent to suck bruising kisses along Billy’s pale delicate neck.

“You got a weapon on you?” Bill suddenly asked, his voice still breathless. The odd words took a few seconds to penetrate the heavy fog of lust that had settled inside Frank’s skull.

“What?” He grunted, his next thrust hard enough to make Russo skid a few inches on the tabletop.

“That last one isn’t quite dead,” Billy whispered against his jaw. Frank hummed, stilling his hips, “back pocket.”

Clever fingers fished out the small boning knife Frank had swiped. Billy pinched his ass, “were you planning to carve me up, Frankie?”

“Would you blame me?” Frank asked drily. Billy grabbed a handful of his ass and made a fancy swiveling motion with his hips, long legs tangling lazily around the backs of Frank’s thighs, “don’t stop.”

He sighed happily when Frank continued dutifully. Frank buried his face in Billy neck, “don’t miss.”

Russo laughed and lifted his left arm. Frank heard a choked, wet gurgle behind him as the body met the floor with the boning knife sticking out of his throat.

“Have you known me to miss, Castle?” Billy smirked, “So, technically it was five people. I killed two.”

He didn’t seem to mind when Frank surged forth and silenced him with a violent kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I heard olive oil was fine as a lubricant, except for the part where it breaks down latex
> 
> Obviously, what they are doing is super unsanitary. If it were up to me, I'd have them get rid of the bodies, bleach down the place, bleach down themselves, take separate showers, do laundry, buy condoms & lube, and then do the nasty.


	6. Chapter 6

His chest was a canvas of black and blue. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, Billy ghosted his fingertips over each blossoming bruise as he slowly committed them to memory. He could hear Frank through the thin walls of Gunner’s cabin, shuffling around in the adjacent room.

Getting rid of the dead bodies.

Billy’s eyes fluttered shut, breath hitching in his throat. He could still feel Frank in him, a dull phantom ache that resonated from deep within. Their second round had gotten a little out of hand when Frank shoved him over the arm of the couch and really gave it to Bill. He didn’t even remember coming. Every nerve ending had been on fire, and all Billy could hear past the pounding of blood in his head were the pathetic little whimpering groans Frank drilled out of him with each punishing thrust.

  
The Punisher, now that wasn’t a bad name for a porn star.

  
That thought made him laugh. The sound was jarringly loud in the small bathroom and when Bill looked up into the mirror, he saw the first genuine smile in years. It looked almost comically out of place on his face. Slowly, hesitantly, he reached out his hand and pressed the pads of his fingers over the cool glass. Condensation formed like ripples in a still pond, partially obscuring his eyes — his mother’s eyes, his crack-addict, whore of a mother who cursed him with his beauty looks, without which his childhood would not have been such a nightmare hellscape—

  
“Bill?”

  
He twisted to face the door at the sound of Frank’s gruff voice, and for a split second, Billy caught his former teammate's gaze dip low, dark brown eyes falling to the handprints pressed into his milky hips. Smirking smugly at the involuntary reaction, Bill made a little half-turn and spread his thighs invitingly.

Frank’s lips twitched, “we’re leaving.”

He lifted the can of gasoline he’d syphoned from one of the Russians’ cars and shook it, sloshing the liquid noisily.

  
“And here I thought you were gonna chain me back up and have your wicked way with me every day from now on,” Bill smirked at the flush creeping up Frank’s neck and sauntered over to him. Up close, Frank smelled of the bitter cold snow outside and faint traces of blood and sweat.

  
“Get in the van or I’m torching you with this place,” Frank scowled, pointedly averting his eyes from Billy’s naked chest. Russo curled his fingers into the thick material of Frank’s jacket and pressed his lips to the side of his rough-shaven face, “Roger that, sir.”

 

* * *

  
  
Snow crunched beneath the tires of the black SUV as Frank carefully maneuvered it down the hill and out of the woods. The cabin was a crackling, molten ball of fire in the distance, getting smaller and smaller by the second. Bill could still see the fire if he closed his eyes, a blackened imprint in the back of his eyelids.

  
The radio fizzled to life a few minutes later to the sound of a woman’s voice, “Wilson Fisk, the former business tycoon, has been released from prison today after brokering a deal with the FBI…under house arrest…current…”

  
Frank’s knuckles tightened around the steering wheel, the vintage leather creaking beneath his fingers.

  
“Where are we headed?” Bill asked. He was drawing little squiggles in the condensation on the window passenger side window, curled on the warm seat like a cat.

  
“Where do you want to go?” Frank asked back, making a turn down the left fork in the road.

  
“Does it matter?” Billy pulled his gaze from the window and turned to smile at him, dark eyes glimmering in the moonlight like shards of broken glass. “‘Sides, I figured you already have a destination in mind.”

  
“Yeah, yeah I do, Bill,” Frank muttered, his thumbs tapping restlessly against the steering wheel. The roads were empty, only one fading set of tire tracks going in the opposite direction. It was starting to snow again.

  
“I go where you go, Frankie,” Billy pressed his forehead against the cold glass and sighed dreamily, “your dick is just that good.”

  
Frank swatted at him halfheartedly.

  
“Get some rest, asshole,” He said, fingers ghosting over the bare sliver of soft skin over Billy’s left ankle, “the drive to New York City is gonna take a while.”

 

* * *

  
They stopped at a rundown gas station a few hours later. Bill perused the racks of cheap snacks and outdated magazines while Frank took a piss in the dingy little bathroom in the back of the convenience store. The only fresh thing in the store was a crate of apples near the front. Billy grabbed one and shuffled over to join Frank by the register. He had a thick glass bottle of Jack Daniel’s on the counter along with a few bars of granola and two bottles of water. Billy set his apple smartly on top of the pile and stood back, ignoring Frank’s annoyed glare as the other man pulled out his wallet.

They were on their way back to the SUV when a noisy red Mustang pulled up from the road, gravel and dust whirling behind it like a miniature cyclone. Bill caught a brief flash of something metallic in the hands of the guy riding shotgun. He met Frank’s gaze over the roof of their car.

He wiggled his eyebrows, “I’ll bet you my apple they’re going to rob the place.”

“Yeah?” Frank tossed the plastic bag onto the driver’s seat and straightened to squint at the convenience store. Sure enough, the men in the Mustang had donned ski masks and were pushing their way inside.

“Fucking smartass,” Frank rolled his eyes when Billy let out a quiet chuckle, “wait for me in the car, Russo.”

Then, he grabbed the bottle of whiskey and headed back to the store. Bill turned the ignition on, rolled down the passenger side window, and was fiddling with the radio when the screams started.

He pulled out the apple from the bag, wiped it on his shirt, and took a large bite. Despite its unblemished surface, it was somehow rotten around the core, but he ate it anyway.

A few minutes later, Frank reappeared, minus the bottle of Jack Daniel’s. He pulled open one of the SUV’s back doors and shoved something inside. Bill yelped when a wet tongue slathered hot spittle all over the left side of his face. The pup, a sand-colored pit, wagged its tail enthusiastically in their backseat.

“Seriously? You stole their dog.”

“Don’t worry, they’re not going to miss her,” Frank said calmly. His knuckles were bloodied and Bill could smell the acrid scent of gun powder on his clothes. Frank wiped his hands on his jeans and reached back to scratch the eager dog behind one floppy ear.

“The surveillance feed?” Billy asked. If Frank wasn’t going to bother with discretion, he would have to pick up the slack.

“They shot out the cameras the second they went in,” He replied, starting the car.

The dog whimpered like the neediest thing on the planet and scrambled over the armrest into Bill’s lap. He grunted in discomfort when the movement pulled at the already abused muscles in his back.

“Jesus,” Billy muttered, staring down at the creature. There were cigarette burns along its side, both old and new. In theory, it should hate humans by now. He knew that he would. But it licked his chin. Billy swallowed and patted the puppy gently on the head.

“I got some beef jerky,” Frank pulled the three sticks of seasoned meat out of his back pocket and handed them over as their car rolled onto the empty country road again. Billy squinted down at the Slim Jims.

“Dude, this stuff is way too salty for her,” He threw them onto the dash and grabbed a bottle of mineral water instead. Between its, no, her kisses and his attempts to wrestle open the plastic cap, Billy saw Frank’s lips curl into a smile.

A small one, but a smile, nonetheless.

 

* * *

 

He knew where they were headed before Frank even made the turn onto the street where Maria and the kids were buried. Frank didn’t say anything, so Billy didn’t either. He waited in the car when Frank parked on the sidewalk, climbed out, and slipped inside the cemetery. It was nearly five o’clock in the morning, but the streets were empty, and Billy was suddenly grateful for the warm pitbull pup curled over his legs.

Wanda, they’d named her after the first girl name that had appeared on the billboards dotting the side of the road.

He watched Frank’s progression up the gently sloping hill to where his wife and children were buried through the safety of the tinted car glass. Frank’s shoulders were stooped like he was carrying the weight of the world on his back. Absently, Billy scratched Wanda behind one ear.

  
He could remember Maria, beautiful as the day he’d first seen her at the JFK airport, standing there in her bright yellow sundress waiting for her husband. Frank had dragged Billy over to meet her and the kids, which had finally put a face to the woman who had been writing to him for the past two years. She’d always sent him a care package alongside the one to her husband. Bill had felt a stabbing sense of disappointment, for she was as beautiful as, perhaps even more so in real life, than Frank had described.

He had stood there in that bustling airport as Frank let go of his arm and reached out to kiss his wife, his children wrapped around his waist. There had been no room for Billy. There never was.

Except now.

  
“Can you keep a secret, pretty girl?” He murmured to the puppy in the silent car. She peered up at him with honey brown eyes and barked quietly. How dogs could trust humans to the extent that they did still baffled and awed Bill.

"I’m not a good person,” He whispered, “and I don’t think I ever want to be.”

 

* * *

 

The sun was mostly up by the time Frank walked back to the car. His shirt was damp, and Billy didn’t need to confirm to know that his face was also wet, not with the morning dew but tears. So he kept his gaze averted and played with Wanda, squeezing the empty plastic water bottle between his fingers and allowing her to chomp on it when she wanted.

Frank sniffed quietly and wiped a shaky hand over his face. He cleared his throat and said, “you know, they loved you, Bill.”

He knew. But in all honesty, if he’d had a chance to go back in time, Billy would not have changed a thing. That was just the way things were. Frank didn’t need to know that, nor was Billy going to tell him. The only being who knew was Wanda, sweet innocent Wanda, who already adored him despite the horrible monstrous thing he was. He wondered if she could smell how broken and empty he was, a black void parading around as a human being.

Frank didn’t.

It was easy to turn and school his expression into something with just the right amount of mournful regret.

“I loved them too,” Billy said.

Frank stared at him with red-rimmed eyes. He looked so tired in the pale, watery morning light, and Bill hated Maria for making him look this way. How was she still able to sink her claws into him despite rotting away in the ground.

“I don’t think I’m going to come back here anymore,” Frank said.

Then, he did something strange.

He reached across the distance between them and set his fingers to the back of Bill’s neck. The kiss was a bare brush of dry lips against his forehead, a gesture that was oddly innocent after all the debauchery from last night. It made Billy’s heart skip a beat. For a moment, he felt fourteen again, stuttering along to the rushing of blood in his ears as he confessed his feelings to Gina Thorn, the prettiest girl in their entire middle school. Then, it was all gone again, sucked into that unending void.

He pulled Frank down into a proper kiss. 

 

* * *

 

The drive to Curtis’ apartment took roughly an hour, and by that time, Billy’s stomach was rumbling like an old tractor engine. Wanda was a wet, drooling mess on his lap.

  
“You have got to be shitting me, Castle,” Curtis said when he pulled open the front door for his daily walk around the block and found Frank standing there with an apologetic grimace on his face. Billy stepped out from behind him, Wanda held in his arms like an infant child.

  
“Hey Curt,” He said cheerfully, “did you miss me?”

 

* * *

 

“This is insane, Frank,” Curtis yelled, morning exercises forgotten, “what happened to the plan of keeping him safely locked away from civilization so that he couldn’t hurt people anymore?”

“Complications came up, Curtis,” Frank started to say in a weak voice.

“We slept together,” Billy piped up from the kitchen. There’s an almost savage glee when he adds, "multiple times. It was kind of awesome.”

“You’re not helping, Russo,” Frank bit out, gritting his teeth.

“Love you too, darling,” Bill grabbed one of the glass Tupperware containers out of the fridge and stuck a fork inside, “Hey Peg-Leg, can I eat this?”

“You’re already eating it, asshole,” Curtis snapped, rolling his eyes. He pressed his knuckles to his temples and took a deep slow breath, “You know Frank, I really do want to say I told you so, but let’s face it, it was bound to happen.”

Frank choked on his coffee, “Which part are we talking about, Curt? The cabin or the…” He waved his hand vaguely, looking embarrassed.

Curtis folded his arms over his chest and lifted an unimpressed brow, “both.”

“The pirate is right, Frankie boy, I’m a hot piece of ass, don’t be ashamed,” Bill smirked and sauntered over to the duo. He took a seat on Frank’s left armrest and fed him a cold dumpling. He winked at the other man.

“I will projectile vomit on you, Russo,” Curtis warned them both.

Frank sighed and ran both hands over his exhausted face. “Quit it, Bill.”

“So, what’s the new plan?” Curtis prompted, “because I don’t believe for a second that you two are just gonna skip off into the sunset and settle down in a house with a white picket fence and your obviously stolen dog. Also, Frank last I recalled, you’re not gay.”

“I’m not,” Frank exhaled wearily, “He got to me, the bastard. I know, you don’t have to shame me, I’m ashamed enough as it is.”

Billy kept eating his dumplings and declined to comment.

“Look I’m asking not because I want you guys out of my hair, although truth be told, I do,” Curtis went on, ignoring Bill’s ‘what hair?’ comment, “it’s just that Hell’s Kitchen isn’t a really good place to be right now, what with the whole Fisk situation.”

“Yeah, we heard on the drive here. It was all over the news,” Frank nodded, “I had a brief run-in with Fisk in the past. The guy tried to set a whole cell block on me.”

“What’d you do?” Billy asked in between bites. He genuinely wanted to know.

“I killed them,” Frank replied with a shrug, “Fisk is bad news. If he’s out, the other gangs are gonna riot. It’ll be mayhem in Hell’s Kitchen.”

Billy snorted. “When isn’t it mayhem in this shit-hole?”

“Frank, I didn’t say anything when you went after the people responsible for killing your family,” Curtis paused long enough to shoot Russo a cold look, “but even I know that you making an appearance now, after the CIA and FBI have finally stopped searching for you, is not a wise move. There are other people, people like you who give a damn that are watching over Hell’s Kitchen.”

“Like who?” Frank snorted and traded his coffee for the rest of Billy’s dumplings. “That damned alter boy Daredevil sure as hell won’t be of any help.”

“Yeah well, the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen hasn’t been seen for a quite a while now,” Curtis said quietly. “So that’s your plan? Announce to the world that the Punisher is back?”

“Nah, I figured we’d lay low here for a couple of days till we find a place,” Frank explained, “then we’ll see how it all goes.”

“We?” Curtis asked. “What’s Bill’s role in all this?”

They were both watching him, waiting for his verdict. Frank paused for a moment before saying, “I’m going to keep an eye on him, Curt. Make sure he doesn’t harm any more good people.”

“And what would William Russo be to the Punisher?” Curtis asked persistently.

How annoying. Billy wondered if there was a way to fake an accidental death with him. Maybe he should shove Curtis down a long set of stairs. It was a solid plan. Now he just needed to find the stairs.

Frank hissed out a breath between clenched teeth, “Fuck, I don’t know.”

“Partners?” Billy prompted in a hopeful tone. There was a moment of silence between the three of them. Curtis was still glaring at him suspiciously.

“Occasional side-kick at the most,” Frank told him reluctantly, “and that is only when I’m in way over my head.”

“Oh, so every single time then,” Curtis rolled his eyes.

“We’ll be like Batman and Robin,” Billy said gleefully. He clapped Frank hard on the left shoulder, “you’re in luck because I look fantastic in short shorts.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're almost at the end. The ending will connect with Daredevil Season 3.


End file.
